


Harry for Hire

by remaya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Office, Bad Jokes, CEO Tom Riddle, Humor, M/M, Prostitute Harry, Romance, Sassy Harry Potter, temporary Harry Potter/Bartemius Crouch Jr.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remaya/pseuds/remaya
Summary: "Office in twenty. Phoenix.”Riddle hangs up without waiting for a response.Barty returns his phone to the nightstand and flops back onto the bed, turning his head to meet Harry’s curious gaze. Barty doesn’t even consider refusing to go-- a code ‘phoenix’ means that Dumbledore’s meddled with the company files again-- but it would be such a waste to leave Harry here...
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 85
Kudos: 957
Collections: Corona Challenge, Riddle





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hilarious prompt, draugr :joy: i've had a ton of fun writing this. just gotta edit now! <3

1

Harry’s just leaned down to place the sweetest kiss on Barty’s nose, pulled away only to pluck a condom from behind Barty’s ear with a playful grin, and one-handedly torn it open while sensuously mouthing down Barty’s chest, when a phone rings on the nightstand.

Barty groans, half from arousal and half from annoyance-- but he knows better than to ignore a call. “Yours or mine?”

“All my ringtones are custom,” replies Harry. He gives Barty an understanding smile and rolls to the side. “I’ll still be here when you’re done. We have a few hours left, yes?” He winks.

“Fuck, yes,” Barty agrees, roughly. This had better be insignificant business-- Barty is determined to _thoroughly_ sample the gorgeous prostitute he’s hired. Harry nods encouragingly, so Barty musters the willpower to look away and answer the phone. “Bartemius Crouch Junior speaking.”

“ _What have you been_ doing? _It’s been seven rings!_ ” Barty’s erection flags as he recognizes the irritated voice of his boss. Nothing kills a boner more swiftly than the fear Riddle inspires. _“Never mind that-- office in twenty. Phoenix._ ”

Riddle hangs up without waiting for a response.

Barty returns his phone to the nightstand and flops back onto the bed, turning his head to meet Harry’s curious gaze. Barty doesn’t even consider refusing to go-- a code ‘phoenix’ means that Dumbledore’s meddled with the company files again-- but it would be such a waste to leave Harry here.

“I can go with you,” Harry offers.

“You’re not joking?”

Harry shrugs, a little jerk of his shoulders. “You’ve paid for my time, no refunds. I may as well come along.” He smiles and tilts his head, his eyes bright. “At the very least, I’ll be doing some sort of coming that way.”

“That was horrible,” Barty manages through his unexpected laughter. “Well, having you with me can’t hurt. Riddle-- that’s my boss-- his temper is notorious. You might distract him for a fraction of a second.”

“I’ll be worth your while,” promises Harry, already gathering up the clothing strewn about the bed.

Barty pulls his shirt over his head while uselessly hoping that bringing Harry will discourage Riddle from calling on Sundays in the future.

* * *

Lucius holds the elevator doors open for Barty.

“Thanks,” Barty pants, leaning his forehead against the wall and no doubt smearing sweat across the shining metal.

Lucius raises a judgemental brow. “Were you fucking before this or something? And where’s your briefcase?”

Barty waves a hand behind him.

“We didn’t get around to the fucking part yet,” Harry says cheerfully, following Barty into the elevator and hitting the button to close the doors. Somehow, he merely looks windswept instead of winded. Barty hates him. A little bit. His dick gives a valiant twitch.

“Barty,” Lucius says, flatly.

“Lucius,” returns Barty.

“I’m Harry, nice to meet you,” says Harry, switching Barty’s briefcase to his left hand and sticking out his right. Lucius eyes his hand in distaste, ‘who knows where that’s been’ written clearly on his face. Harry takes his hand back, unbothered, and drops the briefcase to dig around in his pockets. “Here, Barty, turn towards me a moment.”

Barty turns. “What?”

Harry shakes a spray bottle and then spritzes Barty’s face and neck, patting the cold moisture into his cheeks with his free hand. He mumbles as he switches the bottle for a different one and sprays what feels like water into Barty’s hair, pulls out honest-to-god _mousse,_ and wrangles Barty’s hair into some semblance of put-together.

“What,” Barty says as Harry puts the mousse back into his jacket and moves on to fixing the crease of Barty’s collar and tucks Barty’s shirt in.

“You weren’t going to see your furious boss looking like a mess, were you?” Harry frowns at him. Barty wilts and allows Harry to buckle his belt properly.

When Barty looks over at Lucius, the man is alternating between staring at Barty with awe and staring at Harry with worship in his eyes. “How…” Lucius says. “This…” 

“I'm a pro,” Harry grins, straightening and wiggling his fingers at Lucius.

Lucius extends a hand. “Lucius Malfoy.”

Harry takes it, beaming. “Pleasure! Oh, I believe I’ve met your son before!”

“Draco--” Lucius grimaces. “I do not wish to know of… what he does in his alone time.”

“Sorry, mate.” Harry claps him gently on the shoulder. “But he _is_ pretty good with his tongue--”

“Please, do not,” says Lucius, pained.

Barty notices the sparkle in Harry’s eye and hastens to intervene. As loathe as he is to give up an opportunity to tease Lucius, all of them need their fullest strength to face Riddle. “Harry, perhaps less sass, when we get to Riddle’s office.”

“Sure,” says Harry. “Though I have to warn you, I might not last the entire meeting. I’m fairly good eye-candy, but I’ve been told I have a smart mouth.”

Lucius tries to discreetly avoid looking at Harry’s lips, but it’s a small elevator. They finally reach the top floor with a _ding!_ and Barty picks up his briefcase. As they make their way through the hallway, it occurs to Barty that Harry’s tight jeans and oversized sweater are more cute than professional. 

Too late to change now.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Barty shares a look with Lucius and Harry, takes a deep breath, and raises a hand to knock on Riddle’s office door. The door swings open right before his knuckles make contact.

Barty loves his boss. Lucius thinks he’s overdramatic.

Riddle’s sitting behind his desk. He shuffles his sheaf of papers for a while longer, letting Barty and Lucius stew in anticipation. Only after the door whirs shut behind them does Riddle look up and say frostily, “You are  _ late. _ ”

“Did you seriously install a camera outside your door just so you can deny people the ability to knock?” Harry pipes up from where he’s inspecting the doorframe.

“Who the  _ fuck  _ is this, Bartemius?” Riddle demands with a vicious scowl, a strange note in his voice.

“I’m Harry,” Harry responds, and adds cheekily, “And I’m also capable of speaking for myself.”

“Mr. Riddle,” says Barty, sweating nervously all of a sudden, “Harry is-- ah, a friend. You called at an inconvenient time-- he was with me...” Barty winces at once; that could have been phrased with more tact.

“ _ Inconvenient, _ ” Riddle begins slowly, rising to his feet to loom over his employees. “Inconvenient! Dumbledore’s meddling is  _ inconvenient. _ Your  _ entertainment  _ is trivial!” Though his tone remains even, his grip is tight enough to crumple the paper in his hold.

“ _ Trivial _ ,” Harry mutters under his breath, offended and unheard. “Barty’s dick didn’t think I was trivial.”

Barty gulps. The more calm Riddle sounds, the more terrible his mood is; and judging by how he usually cannot tolerate the slightest crease in his papers, and yet has crumpled them, his mood has crossed the line from ‘terrible’ into ‘raging’. “My sincerest apologies, Mr. Riddle. I will do my best to--”

“Do not  _ waste my time _ apologizing,” Riddle hisses, losing his temper. He flings the sheaf of papers at Lucius and Barty. “ _ Go!  _ This is a fucking atrocious mess. And if Rosier’s team hasn’t fixed the breach by Wednesday, he’s fired!”

“Yes, sir! I will do my best!” Barty says, frantically collecting the loose paper from the ground and then sprinting out of the room. Lucius follows him at a brisk stride, snagging Harry along the way. The door shuts behind them.

Lucius stops and gently shakes Harry. “Are you alright?”

Harry blinks, his eyes a bit dazed. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, then swallows with force. “That was  _ hot, _ ” he whispers at last, staring into nowhere.

“You’re insane,” says Lucius, relieved. “Also, you should know there’s a camera right there-- the one for the door-- so he’s probably watching you right now.”

Harry turns wide eyes to the camera. “Is your cock as big as your personality,” he mouths, and then he’s pulled away by Lucius for damage control.

Tom blinks at his computer monitor. 

Tom decides that he doesn’t have the time to imagine why Harry would ever see his cock, or be acquainted with its size, or… anyway. He has work to do.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Tom emerges to check on his employees’ progress, only to discover complete pandemonium. Tom hates messes.

“Report!” he snaps, and a frazzled intern emerges from the whirlwind of minions flapping about the office.

“Lord Voldemort, sir!” she says, reverence fighting with panic in her voice, her eyes manic. “Dumbledore’s people have just arrived! In the atrium!”

“There had better be a good reason for your failure to inform me earlier,” Tom snarls, stalking towards the elevators. “Follow.” 

She hurries along beside him with eagerness and trepidation. “Sir! I have been remiss in my duties! From now on, I will aim above your standards!”

“You drew the short stick for Voldemort duty?” Never let it be said that Tom doesn’t know what goes on in his own domain.

“I volunteered!”

“That’s a first. Hand me the folder they gave you.”

“Yes, sir!”

He curses upon seeing its contents-- Dumbledore has really gone beyond the usual, today, pulling a fraud out of thin air-- and hands it back to her. She tucks it very carefully into her briefcase.

Well, at least she’s functional under pressure. “Your name.”

“Bella-- Bellatrix Black,” she says, breathlessly. The established employees had told her that Tom only learns the names of interns when he’s going to offer them a full-time position.

“Hm,” he says, and then they reach the atrium and Tom finds his good reason for not being informed. As soon as he steps out of the carpeted elevator space, he sees that the first floor is actually in flames.

The actual floor. Is on fire.

It’s linoleum.

There’s fire. A small fire, perhaps, but there is.

“FUCK YOU, HARRY JAMES POTTER,” Alastor Moody is yelling wildly from the entranceway before being hit with a faceful of mousse. There’s a flash, a loud bang, and the room fills with smoke. Somebody pulls the fire alarm. Tom considers the three-way brawl that has broken out between his own minions, members of the Order of the Phoenix, and security, and he wisely steps back.

“NOT FOR FREE,” Harry bellows back.

Barty adds, “I PAID FOR HIM ALREADY!” and heaves a battle cry.

Tom pulls out his phone and dials. “Rosier.” 

“ _ Yes, sir? _ ”

“Charge Dumbledore with the repairs.”

“ _ I have, sir. _ ”

“Has Grindelwald contacted you?”

“ _ No, sir, he’s on holiday. _ ”

“Too bad. Call him.”

“ _ Me, sir? Am I qualified to handle our r-- our landlord? In such a situation? _ ” Rosier stutters, sounding fearful, tripping over almost calling Grindelwald ‘our resident Dark Lord.’

“It’s  _ his _ rival causing the damages,” says Tom, even though a good half of his employees are also responsible. “ _Make_ him agree.”

“Right,” says Rosier, shakily, and Tom hangs up.

Tom turns around and marches out the back door near the elevators. Bellatrix Black itches to join the brawl but is too fearful to stop trailing behind him without express permission; the employees had told her that the whole ‘Lord Voldemort’ thing is a running joke, but she doesn’t entirely believe them. Tom seems like a very ‘Lord Voldemort’ sort of person, so she’ll show him the respect he commands.

Everybody, once they’ve evacuated, ends up huddled together in the narrow space between the building and the parking lot. While the fire department takes statements and puts out the fires in the parking lot and the first floor, the Order members and Tom’s employees-- the self-dubbed Death Eaters-- eventually seem to sort themselves out, bonding with the mutual experiences of being stuck in the cold while drying from copious amounts of hair mousse and being soaked by the fire sprinklers. There’s a ring of space around Tom, occupied only by Bellatrix, who still isn’t sure whether she’s dismissed or even whether she wants to be dismissed.

“This is your fault,” Lucius says to Barty, adjusting his scarf. It’s autumn, and chilly.

Harry bats Lucius’ hands away and redoes the scarf into a neater style. “Nah, don’t blame him. I asked to come with.”

“No, Barty hired Harry to  _ come _ with,” one of the Lestranges snickers, and Bellatrix, overhearing, muffles a giggle into her gloves despite herself. She’s weak for horrible puns.

“I’m very good at that,” Harry says, mock-haughtily, causing a round of whoops and raucous laughter. Bellatrix looks at her boss, who has a pinched expression on his face and is staring at Harry with dark eyes. When Harry happens to look in their direction, Riddle is studying the bank across the street, tracing the letters G-R-I-N-G-O-T-T-S with great intensity.

Eventually, the firefighters and the Order members leave, and the employees shuffle reluctantly back towards the building. Apparently, there isn’t enough damage to really worry about.

“Hey,” says Harry, walking in the opposite direction of everyone else to present Tom with a large, black coat. Bellatrix, walking behind Tom, feels a little nauseated-- she hadn’t realized that her boss might be cold.

Tom looks at him. The other employees decelerate to inch forward incredibly slowly, eavesdropping.

“Hey,” Harry repeats. “Hey, Riddle.” He pokes Tom. “Hey.”

“Harry,” Tom replies, grudgingly.

“It’s cold,” Harry says, pushing the coat into Tom’s arms. It’s several sizes too big for Harry himself. “Sirius Black gave it to me. I thought you might need it.”

Tom’s nose and ears are indeed pink from the frigid breeze, since he hadn’t expected to be outside and as such had not bundled up, but he doesn’t move to take the coat. “We’re going inside now.”

“Exactly,” Harry declares. Tom doesn’t understand him. Harry pouts as Tom continually fails to take the coat; after a moment, he brightens and leans up to kiss Tom’s cheek. “Won’t you take the coat for me?” he asks again, giving Tom a smoldering look through his lashes. “I wouldn’t want someone so gorgeous to freeze.”

Tom blinks down at Harry, processing this. Then, he looks up at his employees, who flinch, having given up all pretense of returning to the building and are now all watching the interaction with bated breaths.

“Tom’s gonna  _ murder _ him,” somebody breathes. Another, probably Pettigrew, squeaks in alarm.

Well, Tom does live to be contrary. “Dismissed until tomorrow,” he tells his employees. He glances at Barty. “The compensation will be in your next paycheck.”

“Um,” Barty says, bewildered. His minions make confused noises.

Tom scrutinizes Harry once more, decides that he does have the time, and nods. “I don’t expect to see any one of you before Monday morning.” He waits for the cheers to die down and then adds, “Except Harry.” He pauses, expectantly, for Harry’s consent. Druella-- Rosier’s sister, as it happens-- had been very clear with Tom about the importance of consent when he met her in primary school, and the principle has served him well over the years.

Harry turns his back on Tom to jog over to Barty. Something in Tom’s chest clenches, but Harry merely gives Barty a peck on the lips and waits for Barty to acknowledge sadly, “It’s fine,” before returning to Tom. 

“Sorry, Barty’s dick,” Harry says, and takes Tom’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :lenny:


	3. Chapter 3

3

Riddle guides Harry to his car, his hand engulfing Harry’s; his fingers are cold, but his palms are warm. He opens the door to the front passenger seat for Harry, very gentlemanly-like and civil, not at all like he’d been losing his temper mere hours before. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, touched and dithering between which version of Riddle he finds hotter. 

“I’m not sorry,” Riddle says abruptly, once he’s in the driver’s seat.

Harry doesn’t have to move to pay attention to Riddle, because he’s already been unabashedly staring at the man’s handsome profile while his elegant hands twist the key in the ignition and curl around the steering wheel. “Oh?”

“For Barty,” Riddle clarifies, looking at Harry. “You apologized.”

Harry blinks. “You’re sweet,” he laughs, propping his elbow up on the armrest so he can support his head with his hand, stretching out a little. Riddle glances at him, his expression inscrutable, and starts backing out of the parking space. “Really,” Harry insists.

Riddle hums noncommittally. He keeps glancing at Harry throughout the drive like he can’t help himself; Harry preens, then settles down to just smiling a little, because he wouldn’t want Riddle to crash the car out of distraction. It’s a short ride, about three minutes, and Harry hopes that the ride he’s looking forward to will last longer.

* * *

Harry’s decided on which version of Riddle is the hottest. It’s not the gentlemanly one, nor the angry one, but this one: this intent one. Riddle’s refused to touch him on the way up to the apartment, instead holding the promise of what’s to come-- literally-- in the darkening of his gaze. Harry can’t help but shiver in anticipation. He’s had clients he’s been attracted to, of course, but Riddle wears this-- this _presence,_ like a cloak, and it’s a heady feeling to be the focus of such overwhelming attention.

Harry doesn’t even need to discreetly turn away and pinch his cheeks to fake a flush. This is great.

Neither of them talks while Riddle lets them in, and then there’s no breath for talking, because as soon as Riddle’s locked and bolted the door shut, Harry finds himself pressed into the wall right next to it. Riddle’s warm lips cover his, and Harry rises on his tip-toes to ease their height difference. One of Riddle’s large hands settles over Harry’s hip while the other rucks up his shirt. 

Harry winds his arms around Riddle’s neck, chuckling against Riddle’s mouth at their eagerness, thoroughly enjoying the sudden skin contact. He hops up to wrap his legs around Riddle’s waist, and Riddle grunts in surprise before adjusting.

“Take me to bed, won’t you?” Harry purrs into Riddle’s ear. Riddle groans into Harry’s hair. Then, Harry continues with a mischievous grin, “But I need to use the restroom first.”

After a long moment during which Riddle’s blood returns to his head, Riddle groans again, this time with frustration, and thunks his head into the wall next to Harry’s ear. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope! I gotta pee,” Harry cackles. “We were stuck outside for _hours_ , Riddle.”

“Go pee, asshole,” says Riddle, grudgingly, and Harry laughs harder upon pulling away to see Riddle scowling viciously. “I have to fetch my STD test results, anyway-- I’d like to come in you. You have yours?"

“I’m a _professional,_ ” Harry says, mildly insulted. He reaches up on his tiptoes to kiss Riddle’s pout away, nevertheless, before turning on his heel and rushing away.

Tom smiles after his retreating form, catches himself admiring Harry’s ass, and doesn’t even bother to forcibly turn his lips back downwards. That’s when he knows that he’s attached; he thinks, impulsively, that he wants this every day.

* * *

A quarter-hour later, Harry takes one look at Tom’s lube and sniffs, offended.

“We’re not using this-- this _shitty_ lube,” he declares, producing his own out of thin air.

“You hide lube in your sleeve,” Tom observes, flatly, disliking the reminder that Harry isn’t _his_ yet. If Harry was his, then he wouldn’t have to hide lube in his sleeve. Tom would take care of that.

“Yeah, I have this pocket sewn in, see? This way it’s like magic when it suddenly appears!” Harry explains proudly, rolling up his sleeve to show Tom. Tom acknowledges that it’s a good idea, but he still doesn’t like it. Harry pouts and teases, “What’s wrong, Riddle? Too crude for you? Seriously, though, if there’s something you don’t like, best get it out of the way now, so we don’t have to break the mood later.”

Tom briefly considers commanding Harry to stay with him forever, but perhaps that wouldn’t be taken very well. He could ask for information… but he’s noticed how reticent Harry’s been about anything personal. “Call me Tom,” he says instead. 

Harry narrows his eyes at Tom before figuring that if the issue comes up, it won’t be too hard to get back into the mood. Ha, hard. “Easier to scream,” he remarks aloud, in that casually attractive way of his that only feeds the heat growing in Tom.

“Good. Can we fuck now,” Tom says, frustration leaking into his voice.

“Trust me-- you’ll appreciate that we covered all our bases first... it didn’t even take that long! But I guess we can start, since you asked so nicely,” Harry tells him, and Tom nearly throws him onto the bed.

“You _tease,_ ” Tom groans against Harry’s jaw while pushing the hem of Harry’s sweater up. Harry figures that Tom’s one of those rare people who like to take Harry’s clothes off themselves, so he doesn’t offer the strip that he usually does, arching his back off the mattress and lifting his arms to help. He lets out a peal of laughter, muffled by the shirts being tugged over his head; then, Tom kisses Harry’s nose through the fabric, and that’s when Harry gets the niggling idea that Tom isn’t going to be exactly like one of his usual customers.

Harry shrugs internally and sneaks a freed hand into Tom’s pants.

* * *

Later, after a short nap, both of them are ready to go again, but this time more thoroughly, since the edge was taken off earlier. Harry straddles Tom to finally reveal the pale, defined planes of Tom's torso to Harry's questing fingers, and then Tom flips them and mouths a line down Harry's stomach towards his eager cock.

Harry moans in anticipation, and then Tom has the audacity to skirt around where Harry needs his tongue the most and to lavish attention on the _wrong place:_ Harry's inner thighs.

"Tom," Harry gasps, letting go of the bedsheets to take ahold of Tom's hair and pull Tom upwards. "I need-- you on me. Hnngh!" he pants as Tom gives the head a few brief licks before shaking his hair to dislodge Harry's weak grip. "Noo," Harry sighs, bereft, and tries to sit up, but Tom pushes him down with one large hand across his waist.

"All clothes off," Tom explains against Harry's knee.

"Just leave the shoes," Harry whines. "They don't matter anyway-- get back here. To-om."

Tom ignores him to kiss his ankle reverently, then pauses.

“You wear heels,” he says, surprised out of his single-minded stripping of Harry.

Harry kicks at him, gently. “So I’m short-- stop judging me! And they’re _wedges_.”

“My mistake,” Tom says. “I didn’t know wedges could be five centimeters tall. I just haven't met anyone short enough to need them."

"I didn't know _dicks_ could be five centimeters tall," Harry grumbles.

Tom smirks up at Harry. "I'll show you _five centimeters tall_ _,_ " he promises, and when Harry asks to flip them again so he can ride Tom, Tom won't let him before he confesses that Tom's cock really is big. Harry retaliates by rolling his hips in as slow a manner as possible... which turns out to be a punishment for both of them.

Though, thinking seriously on it after they've cleaned up and then christened the kitchen and cleaned up again, Harry doesn't think it felt like much of a punishment at all.

* * *

“How did you do it?” Tom murmurs later, plastered across Harry’s back.

“Do what?” Harry mumbles back, lulled into sleepiness by the security of Tom’s solid body against his.

Tom shifts, speaking to the top of Harry’s head because he’s stupidly tall. “The fire, Harry. The flashbangs. The smoke bombs. I can’t figure it out.” This last sentence is said with pain.

Harry guffaws.

“Do not mock me,” Tom complains, burying his nose into Harry’s hair.

Harry pats the hand splayed possessively across his stomach, then laces his and Tom’s fingers together. “You can’t honestly have thought I was responsible for _all_ of it. The Lestranges had the smoke bombs, and if Carrow didn’t keep matches on him then we couldn’t’ve set the hair products on fire.”

“The flashbangs were you, then,” says Tom. “What about the hair products? Those were also Lucius?”

“No, that was me,” Harry admits. “Just-- I don’t carry flashbangs nefariously, or anything. I don’t want to hurt people. But sometimes people want to hurt me. Hazards of the job, you know.”

Tom stiffens at this, and rolls so that he’s partially on top of Harry, clutching Harry closer.

“You’re heavy,” Harry complains, but only half-heartedly, because the weight of Tom pressing him into the mattress feels nice.

* * *

“So,” Bartemius says eagerly on Wednesday, unable to keep his curiosity for any longer, “how was it? No one’s been driven to tears since Sunday!”

“Check your insolence,” says Tom, no heat in his tone. He _has_ been in a relaxed mood— all of his limbs feel a little jelly-like; it had been quite a long while since he’d last had satisfying sex. “It was good. Report.”

“Only _good?_ ” Bartemius exclaims, scandalized. “Do you have any idea how much Harry costs?”

“I _am_ compensating you,” Tom says. “Also, you will not hire him after the end of the next two weeks. Nobody will, anymore. Would you report, now?” Bartemius is how he keeps up with the office gossip, of course. He would use Lucius, but Lucius’ care for useless details about appearances can be a bore.

Bartemius splutters and cries, “But why?”

“ _I’m_ claiming him,” says Tom with menace, his countenance darkening. When Bartemius fearfully agrees, Tom’s mood lifts as quickly as it had fallen. “For the last time, Bartemius, report. Stop wasting oxygen.”

Barty spares a prayer for Harry’s heart and soul.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to draugr for the hilarious prompt!! hope you like it :ghostblob:
> 
> bonuses: [how harry and draco met](https://captainremwrites.tumblr.com/post/615931671185965056/bonus-content-harry-for-hire)
> 
>  **Prompt:**  
>    
> Tom Riddle is a no nonsense businessman intent on making his start-up work. When his errant employees skive off work (For whatever reason), he calls his trusted colleague, Barty to help out with an emergency. 
> 
> Barty, meanwhile, has just hired a gorgeous hooker for some entertainment, and since he's already paid for Harry's time (no refunds), decides he may as well bring him along to help out.
> 
> Chaos ensues.
> 
> Featuring sassy hooker Harry, grumpy OCD boss Tom, and over-eager proactive Barty. 
> 
> (Leaving the relationship tag open to the writer's interpretation)


End file.
